Lovestruck
by Hisa-Ai
Summary: "And by the way, you're really terrible at the sneaking thing, aren't you? If you're going to watch someone, you don't stare so openly at them, you steal glances, bring books and computers and phones with you so they can't catch you looking at them." He would probably make a very good stalker.


**This was kinda sorta inspired by the bit in this song** _Lovestruck_ **by The Vamps that goes all like:  
**

 _It might seem strange_  
 _You don't even know my name_  
 _But I've been watching you for days_  
 _Sitting in the same corner table of the same cafe._

 **Disclaimer:** As per ush, I own nothing.

* * *

 _Lovestruck_

* * *

*.*.*.*.*

It was only creepy if Merlin's only reason for going there every day was to watch him—and it wasn't, it... _definitely_ wasn't his _only_ reason for going there every day. He also went there for the lattes and free pastries his friend gifted him with every afternoon he found his way there. Though it was true that he hadn't started making a daily appearance there until he'd noticed the gorgeous blond sitting in the middle of the room, and had found out from Lance that he spent every afternoon there, reading or typing away at his laptop, that was nothing more than coincidence, really; he would have started spending every afternoon there anyway, regardless of the blond's presence there.

Could Merlin help it, after all, if his schedule every afternoon had suddenly cleared up enough for him to start coming into Lance's cafe to spend a couple hours doing some reading of his own or helping out when Lance needed an extra pair of hands behind the counter? And if, during a lull in customers or when his book became rather boring—as it often did—his eyes happened to drift over to the blond whose name he didn't even know, well, that wasn't _his_ fault— _everyone_ found their eye wandering to pretty things when they were bored, after all.

Could he help it that the table he often sat himself at was just beside the counter and offered a _perfect_ view of the man? That was _Lance's_ fault for arranging the room the way he had. And for constantly needing Merlin's assistance with something or another and making it so Merlin had no choice _but_ to seat himself just there at that particular table so he could be at the counter or backroom within a second when he was needed.

And could he help it that the blond was so bloody gorgeous that Merlin thought about him whenever he was home at night or with other friends or on his way to the café? Gorgeous people made normal people silly with want and nerves, took over their thoughts and every action, were often behind their everyday decisions. Truly, it was the _blond's_ fault for being so damn attractive. If he didn't want people thinking about him every second of their lives, didn't want people fantasizing about him, imagining what it would be like to converse with him, ask him out, kiss him, date him, sleep with him, watch him from the corners of cafes—well, he shouldn't have been so damned gorgeous. That had nothing to do with Merlin, and everything to do with the blond.

Clearly, none of what was happening was Merlin's fault, and therefore, none of it was creepy, despite the teasings his friends often threw at him whenever the subject came up. And God, did the subject come up _far_ too often for Merlin's taste. Because Lance was a bloody gossip, apparently.

(Though really, mentioning Merlin's new little _habit_ in passing to his girlfriend, who'd mentioned it to her brother, who had naturally mentioned it to his friends, who happened to _be_ Merlin's friends as well, wasn't exactly gossiping on his part, Merlin didn't care to be bothered with technicalities when _this_ subject was involved.)

And once word got around their little circle, it was all anyone seemed to want to talk about whenever they didn't know what else to talk about, replacing the weather as the go-to topic when they wanted to talk but didn't have anything particular they wanted to talk about. If he hadn't already spent so many years invested in them, he might have had to get new friends.

"I say you just ask the bloke out already. Either that, or ask Lance if you can shag him in the backroom and get it out of your system already," Gwaine often liked to suggest.

To which Lance would often roll his eyes, "I'd prefer it if my friends _didn't_ shag the people they're stalking in my backroom, actually."

"I'm not _stalking_ him," Merlin would grumble, giving his friends sour looks and often throwing a pillow or chip at them, if something like that was handy at the moment. "And I'm not going to shag him in Lance's back room—and I'm not going to ask him out either. I don't even know if he's into guys."

"Oh he's into us alright," Gwaine would smirk, his eyes glowing smugly, knowingly. "I was in there once and he totally checked me out. But I kept my hands off, out of respect for you," he was quick to add, throwing his hands up in surrender at the sharp look Merlin gave him despite himself. "Which was _difficult_ —have you seen him, Merls? Bloody gorgeous, innit he?" he would tease with a wink, to which Merlin was quick to roll his eyes and try to change the subject.

Because they were _right_ , of course, he _was_ gorgeous, and Merlin _should_ have asked him out, rather than watch him from afar—in a borderline creepy, possibly stalkerish sort of way—but it was so much easier to _just_ watch him from afar, admire, pretend he wasn't a _tad_ bit obsessed.

It was so much easier to amuse and torture himself with fantasies and could-be's, somehow, than it would have been to approach him. Approaching him meant the possibility of a rejection, meant the possibility of not being able to return to his friends café whenever it suited him, meant having to banish the gorgeous blond from his fantasies and deal with the stabbing reminder of rejection whenever he thought of him again or when he happened to enter Merlin's thoughts.

Approaching rather than watching would have changed _everything_ , and Merlin wasn't sure that he wanted to risk that.

*.*.*.*.*

"Do you want me to get his name for you?" Lance asked one afternoon, sidling up to Merlin at the register and leaning against the counter. Merlin had been tasked with working the register that afternoon while Gwen, Lance's girlfriend who was _meant_ to be doing it that afternoon, ran out to run some errands while there was a lull in customers. Merlin didn't mind the job a single bit, as it gave him the perfect view of the blond, the perfect excuse to stand right in his line of vision—should the blond ever look up from his damned laptop, anyway.

"How do you not have his name after all these months?" Merlin asked, voice almost a whine as he looked from the back of the blond's laptop to Lance. It had never occurred to him that Lance would know his name—or _should_ have known his name, anyway, after all the months the bloke had spent in there—but damn, that would have been nice, to have a name to put to the face, the fantasies.

"He always pays in cash, and waits at the counter for his food and drinks, so there's never been a reason to know or call it out," Lance shrugged. "Would you like me, the owner of this _fine_ establishment, to approach one of my most loyal and frequent customers, and properly introduce myself so I can pass along his name to you so you can be a proper stalker and Google him later tonight?"

"No. Shut up," Merlin grinned, shoved at Lance's shoulder. "I'm not a stalker—if I were a stalker, I'd already know his name, where he lives and works, and how long his showers are."

"Are you sure it's his _shower_ length you'd be occupied with?"

"Shut _up._ Don't you have... something to bake or someone to fire?"

"Can I fire _you_ for stalking my customers?"

"Since I don't actually work here, no."

With a grin that Merlin didn't appreciate in the least, Lance shrugged once again and left Merlin in peace, wandered to his backroom to take care of something that Merlin wasn't too concerned with, not with the blond suddenly on his feet and—oh God, he was suddenly _on his feet_ and moving towards _Merlin at the counter._

Suddenly, his heart was racing and Jesus, what did he think he was _doing_ , approaching the counter while Merlin was behind it? How was Merlin meant to keep admiring him from afar if he took the _afar_ out of the equation? That stupid, blond prat was going to ruin everything Merlin had worked so hard to carefully cultivate and maintain.

He was sure he looked absolutely ridiculous, just staring as he was at the blond as he approached, his gait smooth and confident, God, he wasn't even wearing one of those aprons Lance made all his employees wear, the man was probably going to think Merlin _was_ some sort of stalker who had jumped behind the counter the moment the owner had gone away. **_Jesus_**.

And then the blond was in front of the counter and there was no time for Merlin to escape or even run a hand through his hair to make it look decently presentable. God, he was even more gorgeous up close, the dick. His eyes were too blue and his hair was too blond, jaw too perfect, nose too strong, lips too—he quickly shook his head to rid himself of any thoughts concerning his lips, _that_ was the last thing he needed to be thinking about while he was standing _right_ in front of the man.

He raised an eyebrow at Merlin expectantly, the movement grabbing Merlin's attention and reminding him of what he was supposed to be doing.

"Oh! Sorry, uhm," Merlin shook his head once again, sheepishly this time, trying to gather his wits and not make a _complete_ idiot of himself. "What can I get you?"

"I would say I'll have my usual, but you're not the one who usually takes my order, so I would chance a guess that you don't know what that is," the man replied, glint in his eye. "Who is it that I _usually_ talk to, anyway? Been meaning to get his name."

"Oh," Merlin deflated slightly, wondering if he was interested in _Lance_ of all people. Then they would _both_ be brokenhearted. "That's Lancelot. But everyone calls him Lance for, well, obvious reasons."

"Yeah, I can see that," he replied. "Can't imagine being stuck with a name like Lancelot—bit of an odd name. What's yours, then? Any stranger than Lancelot?" he asked, hands moving to drum casually on the counter.

Eyes flitting between his hands and his eyes, Merlin took a moment to reply.

"It's, ah, Merlin. Merlin Emrys."

"Well," he began, grin on his face. "At least it's no stranger than Lancelot," he finished, a chuckle laced through his words that made Merlin smile wide. "I'm Arthur, by the way, Arthur Pendragon," he said then.

He brought a hand up from the counter and held it out towards Merlin suddenly, a gesture that Merlin all too readily returned, hand gripping tight and almost refusing to let go after the steady shake was finished. Lucky for him, Arthur's hand lingered a moment too long as well, but it still left Merlin's and returned to the counter between them all the same, which was _quite_ the shame.

"Can I ask you something, Merlin?" Arthur asked suddenly, eyes narrowed ever so slightly in a way that Merlin wasn't sure if he didn't like **at all,** or liked _too_ damn much.

"Sure," Merlin shrugged.

"Why have you been watching me?"

Merlin blanched at the question, it was a fair one, of course, _very_ fair indeed, but ah, he hadn't… been expecting Arthur to catch on to that or ask about it—God, he wasn't supposed to _ask_ about it. Getting shit from his friends about it was one thing, but for Arthur, of all people, to ask Merlin about it was almost too much. It was a good enough sign that Arthur didn't sound pissed off as he had asked it, more curious and intrigued, but, still, he wasn't supposed to just ask about it. Didn't he know that you weren't supposed to just _do that_?

"Watching you?" Merlin repeated, cocking his head slightly, hoping to come off innocent and oblivious, but, well, the blush painting his cheeks surely gave away the fact that he _wasn't_ so innocent and knew _exactly_ what Arthur was on about.

"Watching me. Every day. From behind this counter, from that table," he nodded towards Merlin's currently vacant usual table. "For months now. Why?"

" _Well_ ," Merlin started, hand running through his hair rather nervously as he tried to reach for some sort of excuse, because surely anything was better than the truth. But nothing was as believable or likely as the truth, and any lies Merlin tried to feed Arthur concerning this subject were bound to be seen through all too easily and quickly _anyway_.

"Have you _seen_ you?" he blurted then. "If you were me, you'd watch you too. It's… unnatural, unfair," he insisted, waving towards Arthur's face, his chest, his arms, his, well, _everything_ , because _everything_ about him was unnatural and unfair, Merlin decided. Even the way his eyebrows shot up on his forehead and a smug smirk took over his face. Even _that_ was unfair.

"Am I, now?"

"Oh my god," Merlin groaned, "You couldn't be more full of yourself right now, could you?"

"Hey, _you're_ the one who said—"

"I know what I said, and I don't need you to repeat it back to me, thanks."

Arthur laughed, shook his head, his laughter almost intoxicating enough that Merlin damn near started at it himself, though thankfully, he caught himself and scowled at the prat for a moment instead as his laughter died down.

"Does Lance know you treat his customers like this?" he asked finally, eyes gleaming with laughter still.

"I don't make a habit of… _any_ of this," Merlin grumbled reluctantly.

"So I'm special."

"Unfortunately."

Arthur smiled at that, a genuine, nice sort of thing that made Merlin smile back and forget about his embarrassment for a moment.

"For the record, I'm still only _me_ and I've already been watching you in turn, so," Arthur shrugged, watchful of Merlin's face as the admission left him, more considering than embarrassed in any sort of way, Merlin noted. But God, that just couldn't be true.

" _Sure_ ," Merlin snorted.

"Come on, _Mer_ lin, have you seen you? With that hair and those eyes and those cheekbones and your fingers—it's not unnatural, exactly, but it's definitely unfair."

Merlin shook his head, amused, embarrassed, but really rather endeared as well, if truth be told.

"It would be _less_ unfair, however," Arthur started up again, a sly look on his face. "If you gave me your number, maybe agreed to go out with me sometime."

"Oh would _that_ make it less unfair?" Merlin teased.

"Yeah, it would. And you'd get to watch me without having to worry about trying to be _sneaky_ about it. And by the way, you're really terrible at the sneaking thing, aren't you? If you're going to watch someone, you don't stare so openly at them, you steal glances, bring books and computers and phones with you so they can't catch you looking at them, and _use them_ , you don't put the book down after five minutes and just stare at the person, that defeats the purpose of bringing a book with you to begin with."

"Oh, well, maybe I should take a few pointers from you," Merlin rolled his eyes, the knowledge that when he was watching Arthur, Arthur had been watching him too, stealing glances between words and emails or, well, however that worked, really, Merlin wouldn't know since he was apparently god-awful at secretly watching people. Maybe he should have been worried about Arthur already knowing about his, erm, _shower_ length as well, since he seemed so skilled at secretly having a crush for someone and everything that came with it. He would _probably_ make a very good stalker.

"And maybe I could do that over a cup of coffee sometime, a muffin or something. Or _now_ , maybe we could, uhm, do that now—if you're not too busy or anything watching anyone."

Arthur smiled at him, nodded. " _Now_ sounds good. Your place or mine?" he asked, glancing to Merlin's _usual_ table.

"Well, mine is closer," Merlin replied slyly. "Just, uhm, let me go grab Lance to watch the counter and we'll…" he waved his hand vaguely towards his table.

"Sounds like a plan," Arthur nodded, moving from the counter to Merlin's table as Merlin turned around.

It might be a _little_ weird having Lance _right there_ during their first date, a little awkward knowing that everything that was said and done would be relayed to their friends twice, once as Merlin remembered them happening, and a second time as Lance remembered them happening. But God, Arthur was just gorgeous enough, just _Arthur_ enough that he couldn't be bothered to care too terribly about that just yet.

*.*.*.*.*


End file.
